You Found Me

by Joel Cobbs

  “Take a moment and think about what you just said, Rob.” I did. There was nothing wrong with what I'd just said. It was true. She had been there since the beginning. I'm sure we could both use a break for once, right? She needed a break, especially after what had happened. “Now what do you think?”

  “I still think I'm right. I don't understand what's wrong with that?”

  “I don’t understand what’s so hard about going and seeing the grave. You don't hafta talk to her or anything like that. Just go see the grave and pay your respects. I'm not asking for a Forrest Gump moment where you tell her the revelations you discovered or how you feel about your life.” I rolled my eyes. First, O'Nassis was an idiot. Second, that was one of my favorite movies and it sounded to me like he'd insulted it. Third, O'Nassis was an idiot.

  “Rob. You can't avoid this forever. If you just pull up to the cemetery I think that would be a lot of progress. This is important, understand? Just try. That's all I want, okay?” I looked at my feet.

  “Rob.” I looked up. “Okay?”

  “Okay...” I said.

  ------

  It was the hardest thing I'd ever done. I was parked just outside of the cemetery limits, couldn't even see the stone, and I was having trouble just getting out of the truck. I really wanted to, just couldn't. In Christ Alone, FFH. I needed some encouragement at the moment. It didn't feel like it was helping, but I could feel myself singing along with it. Barely at first, struggling just to get the words out of my mouth. As I muttered along, I could feel my voice getting louder and stronger. I looked down the gravel road that led to where she was. Part of me wanted to walk down it, part of me didn't, part of me didn't care one way or the other. The latter was being torn between the other two, a power struggle going on inside of me. I turned the truck off and got out.

  I couldn't really remember where she was buried, but I had a pretty good idea of where it was.

  I walked passed dozens of tombstones. I stopped at a few and read them.

  In Loving Memory of Trudy Gailman

  Loving Wife, Dedicated Mother, Wonderful Friend

  1933-2006

  It touched me how someone could place this on a tombstone knowing the person would never be able to read it. I wanted to know what the point of that was. Is it like a social thing (Hey, look at what my deceased family did for me!) or was it more of a respect thing (See how much we love her!)? I wasn't really sure, to be honest. I didn't know what was on Mom's, even though I'd been there for the funeral and everything. I knew it said something, just didn't know what. She wasn't there anyway. She'd been cremated and sprinkled all over the Gulf of Mexico thanks to a family friend who was also a pilot.

  Finally, I could see it in the distance. I could tell it was her, just by the last name and date of death. “2008.” I just stood there, close enough to see but not read much on it. I felt tears appear and quickly turned away and left. I didn't need this. If I wanted to feel bad, I could go rent City of Angels and tell Nicholas Cage his sacrifice isn't worth it.

  I slammed the truck door and looked at it. I was sitting in the same place doing exactly what I'd done the day she died. I could feel the tears begin to appear.

  ------

  Dad and I were sitting at Cracker Barrel. We'd agreed to meet there since we were both busy in town and were hungry. I'm sure I've said it dozens of times, but we'd practically stopped eating at home. I think it was too much for the two of us, too much of a reminder of what had happened. We ordered our usual and talked about our day.

  He'd been fighting to get this new software into the training program in order to lessen the spending of the program. So far, he was losing. Other than a few breakdowns here and there, he said it was productive and practically stress-free, the best kind of days in his opinion.

  I told him about my day, how I'd gone to my appointment and tried some of the things he'd recommended. I stayed as vague as possible that way I would have some leeway if ever he asked about what all was going on. I'd gone straight from home to the appointment then (to visit Mom's grave, which didn't really go as planned so I didn't say that) to Cracker Barrel to meet him. My day was rather boring and eventless.

  I ordered my usual. It's a mouthful, but it's worth every bite. Dad got some kind of house salad with a Diet Coke. He was on this strange health craze he and Mom had started before she died. I don't know if they were making any kind progress. Weight and health are two things I don't really keep track of. When I die, I die. No point in making sure I look just the way I want when it happens. I'll rot in a few weeks anyway, right? The server took our menus and walked away.

  “So Rob, what do you have planned for this summer?” I smelled a conspiracy but saw no point in jumping to conclusions.

  “Nothing really planned. Work, friends, and Dr. O'Nassis of course. Why?”

  “I've got a conference coming up. It's in Andalusia, Alabama. How about you come with me?” I didn't remember him ever mentioning going on a trip this summer, but then again I don't have all his things kept in a planner waiting to grab it whenever he mentions something to that sort.

  “I dunno. Wouldn't I just get in the way?”

  “Of course not. You can find something to do while you're there. I'm sure they have something for you to do.”

  “I dunno if I can get off of work.”

  “Rob, you haven't take a break since you got there. I'm pretty sure they'll give you four days off.”

  “What about Dr. O'Nassis?”

  “Already talked to him about it. He thinks it's a good idea.” I looked at him dumbfounded. How had he managed to go behind my back and get my doctor's approval before mine? Forget that. Why has he gone behind my back in the first place?

  “Um, well. If he says it's okay then I guess I don't really have a choice do I?”

  “Honestly? No.” I figured as much. So Dad and I were going to spend four days in a hotel room with little to do. I planned to take my laptop and see what I could find to do on it. That, or just do like Dr. O'Nassis said and watch classical movies.

  “Okay then. I guess that's okay.”

  “Good. Make sure you put in the request at work.” “Yes, sir.”

  Our food arrived, smelling of country goodness and simpler times. It reminded me of the stories my great-grandfather used to tell me and how hard things had once been. At the same time, it reminded me of Mom and how much she loved this place. Things were changing that way. I would see something I once loved and took pleasure in, and all I could see was Mom. I wanted to move past this...this wall that was blocking me from where I needed to be.

  From where I wanted.

  From everything that was and is who I am. From everything.

  Chapter Twenty

  The first movie I bought was Citizen Kane. I didn't get it all by itself, though. I also bought Raging Bull at the advice of a friend. Two movies considered the greatest of all time. I loved watching them. Robert De Niro was amazing, as was Orson Welles. The different things they'd accomplished in their lifetimes were incredible (De Niro actually put on forty pounds for the part he played in Raging Bull and spent time in Italy for his role in The Godfather: Part II; Orson Welles wrote, directed and starred in Citizen Kane) There was no beating the intensity of Bull or the incredible twist of Kane. I tried to imagine what it would be like to live a life like these two films. I imagined it would be difficult, if not impossible, to combine the two and create a mega film.

  I watched Citizen Kane first. I'd heard enough about how wonderful it was that I had to watch it. The story was much more interesting than I'd expected. The man's life in its entirety could be summed up in one word, “Rosebud”, while it took five perspectives of other people to learn next to nothing about the man. The ending was as amazing as I'd expected, bringing everything into circle.

  Raging Bull caught me off guard. It was practically the opposite of Citizen Kane, with profanity pouring out of everyone like crazy. The man's self-destruction fascinated me to no end. I couldn't w
rap my mind around why this man was doing what he was doing when he knew it would only lead to his demise. Everyone was telling him what was going to happen. Anything bad that could happen, did happen.

  My heart went out to him because, in some strange sense, I could relate to Jake LaMotta. My heart was torn and crushed by life. I wanted so much and yet couldn't get any of it. Was I on a self- destructive path, one that would lead me to nowhere? Was everything I was doing leading to the end? Could that be me? No, I told myself. No it wasn't.

  When the movies ended, I just sat there in my room. It was unusual how much of an impact they had, and it only took about four hours of my time. I was off today, nothing going on. No doctor's visits, no work, nothing. We were supposed to leave in a few days, which had me rather worried. I was really looking forward to it, in some sort of way. I needed the time with Dad, that much I knew, but at the same time I needed the time alone. He'd go do whatever it was he was going to do, and I would stay in the hotel room, which was fine with me. I needed rest.

  My thoughts went back to Jake and Charles Foster Kane. They both lived incredible lives, each with a different path going through the ups and downs of life. Then, in some grand form or fashion as if it were meant to be, their paths ended the same.

  Both had humble beginnings. Though it can be argued that Kane had a “greater” life than Jake, the difference is that Jake wore his pain and struggles on the outside unlike Kane, who kept them bottled up inside and hidden beneath his massive wealth. Kane and Jake were both looking for some sort of reason for existence.

  Kane wanted love (or to be loved). He spent a large portion of his money going and buying up statues and striving to be the advocate of the little man. He started out as an idealist, someone who was doing what he could to make sure justice was given.

  Jake wanted the championship belt. He didn't want any help to get it, either. He wanted to win it on his own. He fought constantly, taking all his anger out in the ring. The disappointment of not having the championship ate away at him day in and day out. This lead to his personal life being plagued by demons and ultimately destroyed. As much as he denied it, Jake was also looking for some sort of love in his life. His first wife left him because of his dangerous and brutal aggressiveness. His second wife left him because of his paranoia concerning her cheating on him with other people, even his brother, which destroyed their relationship.

  The movies both ended with their lives having not reached what they truly sought after and wanted. Kane died alone in his mansion, speaking the infamous word heard around the world. “Rosebud.” Jake was left alone, both wives having left him. In the end, there is a glimmer of hope, as he sees his brother walking down the road and goes to meet him.

  Such an analysis is hardly original, in my opinion. I'm sure people have sat, analyzed both movies (and more, I'm sure) and found the similarities and published theories, dissertations and what not on them. I wasn't like them. I would overcome this mountain that had been placed in my way and would find my way towards what it was I wanted in life. As bold a statement as that may be, it is true. I wouldn't be someone who had a tragic movie made about them. Stories of me would go down in history. “The greatest writer that ever lived.”

  “His books, winners of many awards and considered to this day as classics, are landmark works of fiction, proving once again that skill comes from the heart.” I could hear the praise ringing as I sat on my bed. It didn't matter that I hadn't written anything in almost two weeks. I'll pick up steam eventually, I told myself.

  I was scheduled to meet some of my friends this afternoon, which was fine with me. It was Tuesday, towards the end of June. A long time ago, I'd talked to my parents about taking some sort of trip out of the state (possibly out of the country) to write, enjoy life, have time alone, or whatever I wanted. Sad to say, those plans were put on hold indefinitely and now, much later, I was here alone, laying on my bed, debating about what to do next in life. Whatever I did next, I wasn't sure of. I didn't really have a plan for anything from this point on.

  I got up and started getting ready. We were supposed to meet around three-thirty, with it already being a few minutes passed noon. It didn't take me long to get ready, but I wanted to be there early, having more time for my thoughts.

  My brain was scattered. I was trying hard not to cut anymore, which was driving me nuts. The music hurt me as much as it helped. Every once and a while I would get that one song that either my Mom had given to me or simply loved and was one of her favorites. I would scramble to change to the next song. I never made it soon enough.

  I finished showering and dried off. I sat down in the bathtub and carefully, I ran the blade vertically across my stomach. The cut was only about two inches long and barely the width of the blade used. It hurt.

  I felt myself burn inside, much like the pain I'd experienced with the showers, but this was much more. I could see the blood flowing, trying to make sure none got on any towels, rugs, or anything else that would give a hint as to what I was doing. When I first started cutting, sometimes some would get on a hand towel. When that did happen, I'd go downstairs as quickly as possible and tell Dad I'd cut myself shaving and I'd used the towel to help. He'd accept this and go about his business.

  Now, though, I'd become smarter. The cutting would take place in the bathtub with the bathroom doors locked so no surprises take place and I'd just lay there, letting the blood flow as it did. I never did it with the bathtub full of water or when the water was turned on. It was either way before or just after a shower. It may be a personal thing and not true, but it sure feels true standing there in the shower washing away the blood that's inside you. I'd also noticed that when I cut after a shower, I had a lesser chance of losing too much blood than I did when I cut before the shower. I'd already had several close calls that I didn't wanna repeat. I carefully reached for the peroxide and rag. I held the rag on the cut and waited for it to stop bleeding. It took a little longer than I'd expected, but I was feeling better. I laid there a moment and tried to regain some of the strength I'd lost.

  I drifted in and out of a sort of sleep state before realizing it was almost three. I felt a little better but it was still hard to walk. I had to walk around the bathroom about six times before enough strength came back to me. “Maybe he's just tired” was the state my walking was in now. Knowing my friends, they probably wouldn't even notice something like that.

  I hadn't seen them in a while. There was nothing wrong with that really. Our friendships had grown kind of strained anyway, long before anything happened. I just wasn't in the mood for them. I was only going today because I knew they would probably get suspicious and wonder what I was doing. Again, trying to avoid any of the usual and unnecessary crap I get.

  I got up and tried to quickly get dressed. We were meeting at Madison Square Mall in Huntsville. My clothes were kinda wrinkled. I'd hang them up when I felt it was necessary, but that was about it.

  Sometimes they would stay in my floor until I went downstairs to wash them. I know it sounds gross but that was what I did. I was pass the point of caring.

  I got in my truck and did my usual thing. Buckle, seat belt, try two or three times to crank it before finally succeeding and plug my iPod in. I'd downloaded several new songs and was hoping to sing out loud to them.

  Heaven, Warrant. It had about as much to do with the Christianity view of heaven as a documentary by Michael Moore had to do with taste. (No, I'm not a fan of his.) It was about a man and his daughter, with the father stating that because of his daughter, it felt like he was closer to heaven. The song was a lot of fun to sing. My voice has a wide range, much more than the average guy. I could sing something like Livin' On A Prayer by Bon Jovi to Awake by Josh Groban and it still sound decent enough to listen to. I know it may be a little bold of me when talking about my own singing skills, but I like to think it's true.

  The song lasted me until the bottom of the mountain, then it changed to something else. Angel, Aerosmith. I'd dev
eloped this new love for the classics, which I couldn't really understand but was sort of enjoying. I rode along with my thoughts, the music changing to all sorts of songs.

  It was during this time of the year that things were really starting to heat up. You could feel your shirt beginning to stick to you, feel yourself starting to sweat after only being outside for what amounted to a few seconds, and lots of other insane things that shouldn't be yet somehow are. This was the joy that is Alabama.

  Don't Stop Believin', Journey. This was another I'd bought recently. Actually, I'd bought a whole Journey album, a greatest hits release. I didn't really know that I liked them until I heard that song on TV. The show was stupid, but the song caught my attention. The show wasn't really one of my favorites, but I don't mind if someone else watches it and I happen to be in the room. But that song grabbed me and I started searching for it. I found it online at some random lyrics website. I'd put off downloading it for some time and finally remembered.

  The lyrics helped me feel better. Sometimes I would just close my eyes and listen to it. I wanted to keep believing. I wanted to hold on to that feeling, but sometimes...Sometimes things don't play out like you want them to. Sometimes you have to understand that life isn't all sunshine and flowers.

  That made me think of those two movies and I began wondering what movie I should get next. There had to be something out there like what I'd gotten. I figured I'd stick with the whole black and white movies I'd been watching, just didn't know what needed to be the next thing I bought. I'd seen some strange movie on Turner Classic Movies that would probably be good. I only caught the last little bit though. Some dude was passed out and another grabbed a gun screaming, “I don't deserve this seat! It was all me! It was all my fault!” I couldn't remember what the movie was, though. I figured I'd just Google it like I do everything else and get the title. That would be a good one to add to my collection. I say collection and it was only two movies. I had some more in the living room that I had yet to get upstairs into my little collector's thing I'd bought.